


The Road Not Taken

by eryn_laegolas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Dimension Travel, Friendship, Gen, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eryn_laegolas/pseuds/eryn_laegolas
Summary: Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker — leader of the Rebel Alliance, the Empire’s number one Most Wanted, and the galaxy’s only hope. With so many lives at stake, a man from an alternate dimension is the least of Anakin’s problems.Or: In which Ben Kenobi ends up in a different universe. He’s not sure if this is a dream, the Force, or some alcohol induced hallucination, but whatever this is, surely any world where Anakin doesn’t become a murderous Sith Lord is better than his own.





	The Road Not Taken

“I thought I would find you here.”

Rolling out from underneath the fighter, Anakin stared up at Padmé, blinking in a dazed sort of way that had her wondering if she was as welcome here as she thought.

“I don’t mean to impose,” Padmé said, slow and hesitant. “I can leave if you’re busy.”

Anakin blinked again and then shook his head. “No, it’s all right.” He gave her an apologetic smile, one that looked as unsure as he sounded. “I just wasn’t expecting company. What brings you here, Senator?”

The honest answer to that would only make their reunion more awkward than it already was. Jedi Masters didn’t receive _I miss you_ ’s with the same lightness and ease normal people do. Or maybe they did, but the words probably weren’t as heavy and laden with meaning.

Anakin sat up and reached for a wipe cloth, smearing oil and soot from his hands. She looked at his politely inquiring face, at the impersonally bland smile she had yet to get used to.

“Not Senator anymore,” Padmé said instead. Her lack of official title was another thing she had to adapt to. It wasn’t too long ago since the Senate was dissolved. Not that it had done much since the Empire began.

But this wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on.

Turning, Padmé considered the other starfighters. “Looks like you’ve been busy. Don’t tell me you worked on all these by yourself.”

Anakin smirked, and there was an echo of his old confidence, a flash of his youthful daring. “Not all of them. Mostly just made some modifications on mine and Ahsoka’s.” He made a face, tossing the wipe cloth aside and pushing to his feet. “We can’t exactly afford to lose anymore ships, not when this is all that's left of our fleet.”

And yet another depressing thought.

That there wasn’t much of a fleet to begin with was left unsaid, but Padmé could tell Anakin was thinking it, from the way his jaw clenched and his lips pursed as he stared around the hushed hangar. To hear the HoloNet and Imperial propagandists tell it, it seemed like Anakin and his hidden band of rebels had the manpower and state-of-the-art equipment to rival the Imperial Army. But the Rebel Alliance didn’t feel much like an alliance most days, and what remained of the Jedi was barely holding them together.

“I hadn’t realized it was this bad,” Padmé said softly.

Anakin scoffed. “Palpatine always did like to exaggerate my talents.”

It was impossible to miss the bitterness in his voice, the hooded, darkened look in his eyes. In the dim light of the hangar, his scar seemed to glisten, looking smooth and raw like it was new. His long hair, bound in a ponytail at the base of his neck, seemed darker too, the errant curly strands almost blending in the shadows.

Padmé could still remember the days when his anger simmered close to the surface, his entire being animated by it. Now his face was simply drained, resigned. Not the barest flicker of anger or passion.

Without meaning to, she moved a step closer. And another, and another, until she was closer to him than she ever dared to in years.

“Well, you’ve always been good at fixing things,” Padmé said, willing herself to look away from him. She stared at his fighter’s engine instead, though what exactly she was looking at, she had no idea. “You can salvage this, I’m sure.”

“This one isn’t entirely hopeless. Just needs some basic repairs. Stabilizer’s broken loose though, and the motivator’s acting up a bit, but at least the compressor is still fine. The dampeners are okay too so —” he cut himself off and glanced at her. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

The way he had rambled on, half of his words she hadn’t at all understood, reminded her of when they met, full of unshakable bravado and exuberance. More than anything, it was the look on his face that made her grin, the way it lit up with a brightness that made her forget how weary he had looked, how tired they both were.

“Not at all,” she said, unthinkingly reaching out to hold his hand. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed at all, Ani.”

He stiffened, eyes dropping to her hand, freezing it mid-motion. Breathes in, and exhales. As though realizing where they were, as though suddenly noticing the distance between them, he took a step back. And another, and another, until Padmé felt unpleasantly cold.

The silence couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds, but it seemed to stretch on endlessly. Longer and longer still, like the gaping space between them.

Anakin cleared his throat, and Padmé drew her hand back.

“Your family — how are they, M’Lady?” he said. His head was bowed so that he had to look up, and his eyes seemed to rest on everything but her, looking in her direction but not focusing on her face. 

“As well as can be expected,” she sighed. “Ryoo and Pooja are excited to see you again. Sola says they’ve been badgering her about you since they left Naboo.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by their quarters then,” he said. “It’s been a long time. I’m surprised they still remember me.”

“As if anyone can forget you,” she said mildly, her tone gentle enough to be teasing.

He smiled a shy, boyish smile. It was nothing more than a faint curve of his lips, but it was there, genuine and soft around the edges. It hit Padmé like a tuning fork, how much she missed the sight of it.

“ _Master? Are you there?_ ”

Anakin finally met her eyes and held her gaze, steady and inscrutable. No more than a second later, he pulled his shoulders back and turned away, and just like that the moment was gone. Padmé looked away, folding the stolen moment out of time, and pretended not to notice how her breath tangled in her throat.

Anakin pulled a comlink from inside his tunic. “Yes, Ahsoka? What is it?”

“ _We have, um, a situation. Sort of._ “

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause on the other end, long enough that the hesitation was tangible. “ _There’s something you need to see._ ”

 

* * *

 

 When Obi-Wan entered the observation room, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Plo were already there, as he had expected.

What he didn’t expect was the greeting he received — the scrutinizing look each of them wore, how their eyes seemed fixed on his every movement. Anakin’s mouth was set in a hard line and Ahsoka’s face was pinched and scrunched up with worry. Plo’s expression was hidden behind his mask, but Obi-Wan could still feel the man’s trepidation in the Force, as palpable as the tension in the room.

Obi-Wan raised his brow. He was about to ask what was going on when Ahsoka moved, closer to Anakin and farther away from the glass. Now that she had stepped aside, Obi-Wan could see their detainee in full.

Beyond the glass, the man was in a meditative trance, seemingly unaware that he was being watched. His robes were vaguely similar to that of the Jedi, though more worn and threadbare than what was considered acceptable in the Temple. His auburn hair was peppered with gray strands, and the wrinkles around his eyes made him look older than Obi-Wan suspected him to be. The man’s beard clearly didn’t help, looking terribly untidy and in desperate need of a good trim.

The sight was at once familiar and strange. Underneath the beard and the graying hair, the lined face of the man was unmistakable.

“He looks like me,” Obi-Wan murmured. He looked up, staring at each person in the room with unbridled disbelief. “How is this — _who is he?_ ”

Ahsoka bit her lip. “I found him while I was on Tatooine. He was in Mos Eisley, in the middle of a drunken brawl of all things. Almost blew my cover too.”

“But why — what is he?” Obi-Wan demanded. “Is he a clone?”

“No,” Plo said. There was enough incredulity in his voice that Obi-Wan didn’t need to see his face. “He claims to be _you_. He says he’s Obi-wan Kenobi. From another reality.”

Obi-Wan could only stare at him, open-mouthed. It was like being struck by a blaster bolt, the impact of the words too strong and unexpected to be taken in without staggering.

“Do you believe him?” Obi-Wan asked.

“DNA scans confirm it,” Plo replied. Obi-Wan was ready to protest, but Plo reached for the lightsaber on his belt. He held it out, and Obi-Wan took it tentatively. “He gave us this, as proof of his identity.”

The lightsaber was exactly like Obi-Wan’s own. It wasn’t just the appearance of the metallic hilt, but the kyber crystal inside it. Obi-Wan could feel the energy flowing through the crystal, the current of power surrounding it. He knew instinctively that if he ignited it, the blade would be a bright glowing blue.

This was _his_ lightsaber. Obi-Wan would recognize it anywhere, just by the familiar and comforting thrum of the Force alone.

But it couldn’t possibly be his. His lightsaber, the one he had used a mere hour ago, was clipped on his belt. Obi-Wan reached for it with his spare hand, as if to make sure that it was still there.

Both lightsabers were identical, down to the last detail. An exact replica. An exact copy. No two crystals were alike, and yet he could feel the Force resonating through them, singing the truth of Plo’s words.

“How is this possible?” Obi-Wan whispered.

Ahsoka gave a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping. “We don’t know. Neither does . . . our guest, apparently. He said he hadn’t even realized he traveled between dimensions until he saw me.”

Anakin crossed his arms over his chest. “So either he’s new to Tatooine or his . . . _reality_ —” he sounded skeptical, like he couldn’t believe he was even saying it aloud, “— isn’t so different from ours. But still — Tatooine? Really? What could he possibly be doing there?”

“He wasn’t really forthcoming with his answers. I think he was too shocked to say anything helpful.” Ahsoka paused. “Either that or his hangover was worse than he let on,” she snickered.

Anakin perked up. “You said drunken brawl, didn’t you? Was he going around trying to mind trick people?”

“How did you know?”

Anakin grinned. “Okay, I believe it. That man is definitely Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan threw him a withering glance. “I’m glad you find this all so amusing.”

“Someone has to,” Anakin said blithely.

Obi-Wan fought to keep his no-nonsense look, but allowed himself a brief smile when Anakin glanced back. It wasn’t often Obi-Wan saw a real smile on Anakin, and rarer still were his odd flashes of openness, when his once expressive face was alight with mirth.

“You’ve talked to him then?” Obi-Wan asked.

“We have,” Plo said, “but as Ahsoka mentioned, he wasn’t particularly forthcoming. The few answers he did give us were too vague to be of much help. We know, at least, that he means us no harm.”

Anakin lifted an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?”

“He said so himself. I sense no maliciousness from him. Despite his obfuscations, he hasn’t lied about his presence here.”

“But you don’t trust him,” Anakin said matter-of-factly.

Plo nodded. “We don’t know enough about him, or if his being here is a danger to us. If his lightsaber is any indication, then he’s been trained, which means our interrogation tactics won’t work.”

Obi-Wan frowned, suddenly realizing why he was here. “You want me to talk to him?”

“You know yourself, Obi-Wan,” Plo said, a touch wryly. “Perhaps he’ll be less reticent with you.”

“It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Being interrogated by an alternate version of yourself,” Anakin commented.

"Pretty weird," Ahsoka agreed.

“Try not to think of it as an interrogation," Plo said. "Think of it as a friendly chat.”

The corner of Anakin’s mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. “I’m guessing you want me to chat with him too?”

“Given his reaction to Ahsoka, there is a chance he knows his dimension’s version of you. He’s more likely to trust you, if that were the case.”

Anakin made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe.” He looked over at Ahsoka. “What about you, Snips? Are you coming with us?”

Ahsoka looked down, her forehead furrowed with unease, much like she used to when she was a Padawan. She seemed inexplicably young then. A jarring reminder, now that she was as tall as Anakin.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, sounding disturbed. 

“Why not?”

“When he saw me, he looked — he looked like couldn’t believe I was there, like. . . .” Ahsoka trailed off, lifting her eyes to look at the man, who was still outwardly serene and motionless. “I think I’m dead in his world,” she said quietly.

Anakin stared at her, his eyes tight and worried. He looked like he wanted to hug her, to reach out to her in comfort, but he braced his feet against the floor.

“His reality or dimension or whatever you want to call it — wherever he’s from, it’s probably as bad as ours,” Anakin said grimly. “Maybe even worse than here.”

“You think so?” Obi-Wan said, eyeing the man’s features again. It was hard to think of them as the same person, not when Obi-Wan couldn’t ever imagine leaving himself so unkempt, alternate realities or otherwise.

Anakin seemed to agree, his frown becoming more pronounced as he looked from Obi-Wan to the man to Obi-Wan again. “If he was out on Tatooine getting drunk? Definitely.”

Obi-Wan wondered what could have driven this man, this stranger, to be almost unrecognizable from himself. He was no stranger to drink, but to get caught in a brawl? And on Tatooine, no less. Obi-Wan had only been there once, and though he’d spent most of the time in the comfort of a royal starship, he was loathe to return to its dust and heat.

Obi-Wan tried to probe at the man’s Force presence. It was as bright as his own. Still a Jedi then, even if his reality’s Order seemed as dead as the one in this world.

Was this were their paths diverged? Where Obi-Wan had Anakin and Ahsoka after the Order’s fall, had this man been alone, the sole remnant of millennia of culture and wisdom?

“Will you talk to him?” Plo asked. He seemed to direct the question more to Obi-Wan than Anakin.

Before Obi-Wan could answer, Anakin moved to stand at his side. From the reflection on the glass, Obi-Wan could see that Anakin was looking not at him, but at Obi-Wan’s counterpart.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Master,” Anakin said, his voice unreadable. “I can talk to him on my own.”

But why wouldn’t Obi-Wan want to talk to this stranger? Perhaps he should have been more troubled by the whole thing, as Ahsoka seemed to be. Certainly, he didn’t know what to make of it, of this latest mess they seemed to have found themselves in, but he couldn’t help but feel a sort of morbid curiosity. It was the kind that kept one’s eyes glued to an impending speeder crash — the end was horrifying and inevitable, and yet one could not help but look.

“Can you?” Obi-Wan said.

“You might not like what we find,” Anakin pointed out.

Obi-Wan shrugged off Anakin’s concern. “Perhaps,” he said, stroking his beard. “You might not like it either, but someone has to talk to him.”

He looked away from the glass and turned to Plo. From the corner of his eye, he could see Anakin frowning at him.

“We’ll do it,” Obi-Wan said. He tried to ignore the way everyone’s gaze bore into him, as if he was the man behind the glass.


End file.
